


my darling, my sweetheart, I am in your sway

by thatsparrow



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 17:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10417875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsparrow/pseuds/thatsparrow
Summary: It's no surprise that Peter prefers to live his life by blueprints.And then he meets Juno Steel, and as it turns out, no plan could have ever prepared him for that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from "rise to me" by the decemberists

It's no surprise that Peter prefers to live his life by blueprints.

In his professional life, it's a matter of practicality — heists and escape routes reliant on the accuracy of floor plans, the act of memorizing grid patterns and knowing the number of left turns to the nearest exit refined to an art form. He studies black lines drawn in neat perpendicular angles and sketches out notes on a system of color-coded post-its and narrows his bright eyes behind the frames of his glasses, pouring a third cup of coffee as he rolls the kinks out of his shoulders. He keeps contingencies in his mind like loose change at the bottom of a coat pocket, runs through a whispered list of steps with a lowered head like he's reciting a prayer.

It's a learned habit that's saved his life on more than one occasion, as useful for keeping track of his varied identities as knowing the quickest way off Venus while being pursued by two separate law enforcement divisions (as well as one interplanetary office, but who's counting). In short, Peter survives by his plans as much as he does by his lungs — remove either and watch just how quickly his life flickers out.

And then he meets Juno Steel, and as it turns out, no plan could have ever prepared him for that.

 

—

 

Peter doesn't consider himself an impulsive person, is pretty sure he wouldn't still be breathing if he was. He likes to think of his life as a practiced balancing act, the weight carefully distributed between falsified ID papers and contract jobs and organized lies, each step along the wire requiring a conscious and thoughtful decision. He's been doing this long enough that he knows how far it is to fall and how unforgiving the ground would be if he did.

So he's still not sure what inspires him in that moment to offer Juno his name — not an alias or another mask, but the identity he first abandoned so many years ago on Brahma. As far as choices go, it's the closest he's come in years to being downright reckless. He shouldn't have done it, and he knows he shouldn't have, and a part of him starts regretting it as soon as the last syllable is out of his mouth. Because there's no reason for putting his trust in this this detective—a scar bridged across his nose and a scowl advertised like one of the neon billboards of Hyperion City—other than sentiment, and Peter thought he knew better than that by now.

He _should_ know better by now.

But then he gets to learn how his name tastes on the lips and tongue of Juno Steel, and— _god—_ if that doesn't make the whole thing worth it.

 

—

 

For Peter, lying isn't a moral qualm but simply a matter of course. He summons falsehoods and spins half-truths as easy as blinking, calls up fiction like a silver coin conjured between his slender fingers.

Still, he does have his own set of standards, and he draws that particular line at lying to himself. Of the careful weaving that comprises the history of Peter Nureyev, _that_ truth is the only untangled thread he has left. And it's one he's not ready to discard quite yet — even considering all those moments when his choices have left him nothing but shame.

None more so than bringing Juno with him to the Utgard Express — than the series of decisions that landed his stubborn and prickly and beautiful detective in the hands of someone like Miasma.

The worst part is that he's not convinced he couldn't have done the job alone. Trickier, to be sure, but historically, what does Peter Nureyev appreciate more than a challenge?

(Not counting one particular private eye, that is.)

True, he'd relied on Juno's help—and his detective had indeed followed through—but plans could always be adjusted, and Peter understood jazz like he was no stranger to improv. It's not like Peter's never had to resort to backup measures, and not like he hasn't spun greater miracles with fewer minutes and fewer options. Had he wanted to, he could've found other methods of acquiring the information about boarding the Utgard, could've borrowed some other participant if he'd really needed a second pair of hands.

 _Had he wanted to_ , but he _didn't_. Because as soon as Vicky offered up Juno's name like a winning lottery ticket, Peter wavered. And even if there were other ways of doing the job—and there were, and he knows there were, and Peter's counted them so many times at this point he's lost track—he only wanted the one with a starring role for Juno Steel. Wrote a part that put Juno on his arm—because he's only human and a damn weak-willed one at that—and played the role of Duke Rose because he'd been subsisting for months on the memory of that single kiss, and he'd take pretending if it was the best he could get.

He didn't know he would pay for the twin beds of a shared hotel room with the narrow walls of a shared holding cell. Didn't know he'd trade the sight of Juno in formalwear for the sight of Juno bloody and broken and beaten down. Peter didn't know, but not knowing doesn't count as an excuse, especially when he still has both his eyes and Juno doesn't get to say the same.

Peter Nureyev's not a perfect man, but neither is he an ignorant one. He knows he could've—knows he _should've_ —handled the Utgard job alone, and he knows he would have died if he had.

But Juno would have been safe, and Peter's wondered more than once if that isn't a small price to pay — his life for the safety of Juno Steel.

 

—

 

Like most things when it comes to a certain detective, Peter doesn't know what to expect from waking up with Juno Steel.

He's thought about it, sure — and more often than he's willing to admit. Thought about breakfast in bed and legs tangled beneath the sheets and tracing a connect-the-dots pattern across Juno's collarbone with his lips. Would catch himself daydreaming in the middle of his own morning routine, wondering what it would be like to pour coffee into a second mug and the logistics of sharing a bathroom sink and whether his shower is big enough for two.

And then, like a miracle, he finds himself falling asleep with Juno Steel in his arms, feeling like a kid at Christmas that he can't keep himself from fixating on what the sunrise might bring. Peter's never deluded himself enough to blur the lines between illusion and reality, but he's pictured this moment often enough that it's a challenge to convince himself it's more than merely a dream.

It's a good thing he doesn't know what to expect from early-morning Juno Steel, because as it happens, he'll never get to find out.

In a few hours he'll wake with the dawn in his eyes, and the bed will feel too large and too empty, and it will take him a moment to understand why.

He'll feel like a fool, that he didn't see this coming. He'll hate himself for being surprised. He'll think that he should have known better, and then he'll realize that of course he couldn't have, and that he doesn't love Juno Steel for his predictability.

It will hurt, as these things do, but Peter at least knows how to shut his eyes to the pain.

And he'll tell himself that soon enough, Juno Steel and their adventure on Mars will feel like nothing more than a distant memory. That it won't be long before he forgets the edge in Juno's voice and the steel in Juno's spine and the shape of a half-smile on Juno's mouth.

But then again, Peter Nureyev draws the line at lying to himself. So he discards those untrue thoughts on the unmade sheets and leaves the hotel carrying the certainty that there is no one else quite like Juno Steel, and Peter Nureyev—for all his care and all his caution and all his plans—has finally lost his balance.

All it took was Juno Steel to send Peter tumbling, and as it happens, the fall hurts so much more than he ever thought it could.

**Author's Note:**

> maybe one day I'll figure out how to write happy jupeter
> 
> but, uh, this ain't it


End file.
